So while my grandmother, my mother and my sister professed to find little enjoyment in the spotlight, I, meanwhile, practically had to be restrained. I enviously observed the way my uncles were allowed to puff themselves up as they gathered around their father, sharing his aura and getting away with it. Try as I might to quell my vulgar desire to be a part of it all, my yearning for the limelight often won out. Our mother disdainfully described life at the White House as "a goldfish bowl," while never seriously turning her back on the privileges it brought. I wanted her love and approval and couldn't bear it when my natural outgoingness elicited frowns and pained expressions. So I learned how to mask my feelings. I lived with a kind of duality—how I felt and how I knew I must appear to feel.

—from Too Close to the Sun